Here be angels
by the.opera.ghost.uk
Summary: The De Changy household is expanding but will it all end in tears? . Erik/Raoul established relationship. One shot angsty fluff, with a bit of Comte Philipe and wife Sophie. Please note, I do not own POTO.


The pain in that scream! He couldn't take it anymore.

He ran, in fact hustled at a tremendous speed through the house.

Sophie was in labour and the sound was tearing at his heart. Comte Philipe de Changy and his wife had agreed to come to the De Changy town house in Paris shared by Erik and Raoul for what would be the last 2 months of her confinement. Erik had suggested – well actually demanded that Sophia was brought to Paris where the best doctors and midwifes could watch over her in her labour.

Philipe of course had finally acquiesced and so here they were. Sophie had just smiled at Erik's request and her husband's decision on the matter before directing the staff at the De Changy Chateau to pack right away. Philipe as a gentleman would never show it, but he could be quite jealous of Erik's influence over his wife. Deep down he knew she would only concur with the ghosts ideas if she felt they were right. He knew that she even sometimes did say 'no' to the man she had adopted as her 'brother' but, that she nearly always said 'yes' to her beloved husband, Philipe.

But the sound of her in such pain, he couldn't stand. He vaguely remembered Raoul trying to catch his arm so as to stop him bolting from the room.

He ran down the stairs between the three floors two at a time. He was abstractly aware of bumping past Henri their butler. He tore through the kitchen past the cook, Madame Roubaix, oblivious of the bowl he'd knocked out of her hand and the exclamation that had followed.

The back door of the kitchen was nearly ripped off its hinges as he flew through it and ran over the patio. He felt suffocated by the jacket and cravat he wore, his hands plucking at the fastenings as he ungraciously pulled them from his body. His quiet footsteps left visible prints in the early evening dew on the lawn that he was now running over. The sound of his footfalls changed as he sped along the winding gravel path at the end of the lawn that went through a small orchard, past the greenhouse hidden by the fruit trees, to beyond the potting shed, up to a jumble of bushes at the back wall of the property.

Here he pushed his way through the over grown neglected shrubs aware of the stronger twigs and small branches scratching at his face and bare hands. He was only finally brought to a stop by the property boundary wall. He pressed his hands and forehead against the stone. The only sound now was his own ragged breathing as his body punished him for his blatant exertion. He couldn't hear her anymore. Thank god! The rational part of his mind roared that thousands of women had given birth for millennia, and that it was natural. But suddenly, he felt it was selfish of a man to make a women he loved suffer so to bring his child into the world when it involved such tortured sound, pain and so much blood.

At that thought, he wretched.

Blood, her blood. No, no, no NO! He mustn't think like that, but he wasn't stupid, women still died in child birth, even in this modern age, it was 1878 for goodness sake! It shouldn't happen but it still did.

Don't let her die, don't let her die, don't let her die.

It became a mantra in his brain as he turned his back to the wall and slid down the rough surface to his haunches. He wrapped his arms about his torso as he slowly rocked himself. The mantra was now quietly passing his lips. Over and over. So absorbed in it in fact, he was oblivious to a dampness on his face.

Time passed and slipped by. He was almost trance like in his quite devotion to his chant for his beloved.

He was eventually aware that someone was tugging at his sleeve and pulling him through the bushes and to his feet. His brain also registered that someone was saying soothing words. They were leading him like a child to the water butt at the edge of the greenhouse. Suddenly the words developed clarity.

'Now my boy, deep breaths,...look at the state of you,' he was aware that it was Mme. Roubaix, she had a lantern with her which she now set down on the ground as she dipped the edge of her apron in the water 'here...' she said as she cleaned his hands that were scratched and moss green in places from the shrubs. He blinked rapidly a few times, when, he wondered, had it gotten dark enough for a lantern? He looked down at this small, plump, no nonsense woman as he felt her squeeze his hand.

She was leading him back towards the house now along the path to the lawn all the time holding his hand and patting it, such familiarity from a servant he was not used too. But he was gratefully thankful for the anchor she was providing.

'She's fine, she's safe, no more need for tears or hiding...' The dampness on his face, it had been tears? He was not aware he'd been crying.

She was safe?

She was safe, she was safe, she was safe. Such a much more pleasurable incantation than his last one.

'She's asking for you, so come on now, best foot forward, you need to go and see her'.

They had entered the kitchen and he was grateful that there were no other staff there. He felt Mme. Roubaix turn him as she held up his jacket and he nodded his consent as she helped him into it. She smoothed her hands over the shoulders, 'There, that's better, now off you go, don't keep the new mother waiting' she said as she picked an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket sleeve.

Suddenly he found his voice, he grabbed hold of her weathered face between his two large hands, quietly he said 'She's really safe?' The woman beamed at him and nodded, he felt a sudden impulse and acted on it, bending down he placed a quick kiss on her forehead.

She blushed and swatted at his arm as she gently turned and pushed him on his way. 'Go. Go see her.'

He bounded up the stairs to the third floor and to the door of the room that he knew held Sophie. He could hear gentle male voices and then a tiered Sophie asking after him. 'I'll see if Madame has found him' he heard Raoul reply as the boy opened the door upon him.

'There you are!' Raoul beamed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the room.

On the bed propped up by countless pillows was a tiered but happy Sophie holding a child in her arms. She was alive, she looked flushed and tiered, but she was alive!

'Dear lord Raoul, sit him down before he falls down!' she exclaimed. He never took his eyes off the new mother as he felt the boy push him to sit on the chaise. Suddenly he was aware that somebody else was blocking his view of Sophie as they stood in front of him with something in their arms.

He looked up into Philipe's face in time to see him bend down with a bundle that he gently pressed towards Erik.

'Here Erik,' he said as he placed what Erik now realised was another baby into his embrace, 'allow me to introduce you to my daughter, your 'niece', Cecile. Her clever mother is holding her twin brother, Francois.' Philipe took a deep breath as he stood upright.

'My darling Cecile', the Compte said to his daughter in Erik's arms as he gently brushed her forehead, 'this is your 'Uncle Erik', whom I know you, your brother and your Mammon have caused much concern to this evening. Be aware my darling that you are now in the arms of a genius, a man who held a whole opera house in his thrall, a ghost, a magician and a man who you will wrap around your little finger without mercy for the rest of his life. A man who first and foremost loves your mother very, very much, but now,' smiled Philipe as he tilted his head, 'from the look upon his face I suspect that you may have superseded your Mammon in that respect.'

Philipe chuckled as he walked back to his wife and squeezed her hand.

Cecile. She was perfect from the little pout on her lips, the down of jet black hair on her head like her mother, to the tiny hand that gripped the blanket she was in. Erik perceived a steady thud in his chest and a warm glow enveloped his whole body, which he suddenly realised was total and unconditional love.

The ghost felt Raoul sit beside him and looked over to see the Vicomte held Cecile's twin brother who was almost a carbon copy apart from the down on his head was brown like his father Philipe. He looked from the baby up into Raouls eyes.

'You're beaming like an idiot Raoul' Erik exclaimed.

'So are you' the boy replied through his grin.

Erik looked back down at his perfect niece, 'That I am boy, that I am'.

_**Please read and review, peoples thoughts are much appreciated, thank you. O.G.**_


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